


Geometry

by Hostilitas



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Fuckery in Mystacor, Gardening, Pre-Canon, Slow Burn, Suffering, accidental dates, ongoing, yall fuckers like hands?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:36:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24800122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hostilitas/pseuds/Hostilitas
Summary: From point A to point B, back to C, spiral to D.Mind your angles. Follow your lines. Round your circles. Curve your halves.From the bloom of a flower to the sigils in a spell,Geometry.
Relationships: Castaspella/Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra)
Comments: 47
Kudos: 173





	1. Congruence

— What do you mean the senior apprentices shouldn’t have advanced classes for now!? Are you insane!?

— This incident has served to prove only that it’s reckless to go too fast with the seniors!

— Oh, _please_! One student has an accident and suddenly nobody can learn anything real anymore!?

— You call almost being blown off a cliff on a floating island _LEARNING_? 

— What do you think the Horde is going to throw at them? Pillows and candy? The students NEED to know that real magic is _DANGEROUS_! We should be using this example to drive into their heads the importance of doing everything PERFECTLY! The Horde isn’t going to tolerate our mistakes!

— LIGHT SPINNER! CASTASPELLA! SETTLE DOWN, BOTH OF YOU!

Norwyn’s voice boomed, louder than their entire shouthing match, trying to nip it in the bud. Both sorceresses opened their mouths to continue, and Norwyn, irritated, raised his arms in an aggressive gesture, demanding ther silence even harder.

— You two seem to be forgetting that the Head Teacher of Mystacor is **me** , not either of you! The final decisions here are mine, and mine alone!

Light Spinner sat back down on her chair, staring daggers, swords, crossbow bolts, every weapon in existence into Castaspella’s eyes.

One incident. One. A single student fumbles the last part of a very reactive invocation, is saved at the last second from a forced lesson in accidental flying, and Mystacor’s cowards are all the way back inside the little mind fortress they call “patience”. 

Light Spinner’s nails dig into the wodden armrest as Norwyn continues his spiel about authority, respect, cooperation. All the while, she can’t stop staring at those black eyes on the other side of the council circle. Castaspella offered resistance against every single new idea since day one of her hiring. Everything she says is always what Norwyn and the others want to hear. Alcher, Lunara, Fire Dancer, they all practically throw their students at Mystacor’s prodigy teacher.

She’s not jealous. There’s no reason for it. Light Spinner is very, very well aware that she knows her stuff. It would be nice, however, if someone else also thought that, at least once. 

— … and, therefore, I declare that advanced classes will be suspended for the next month, and new classes over Fundamentals will take their place. 

— By the Moons, are you _trying_ to make our students weaker, Norwyn? 

— Light Spinner, you, above all else, should understand the power of having a strong grasp on fundamentals.

— And what exactly are you trying to imply with that?

Light Spinner’s nails marked the wood varnish, as her eyes squinted almost shut in anger.

— Castaspella might have been teaching the class where the incident took place, but that was your student, failing on your area of expertise, Light Spinner. If his weak grasp on complex sigils caused this, you are to blame.

Light Spinner closed her eyes, positively furious, trying to control herself. It was okay. He wasn’t right, but he wasn’t completely wrong either. There was no need to flip out here, not again. The council still gave her shit for that outburst five years ago. 

An outburst she felt very close to repeating once she saw Castaspella bring her hand in front of her mouth, stifling a chuckle.

— The teacher who ignored proper technique and decided to gloss over checking if students that were not under their care actually had the required abilities _also_ led to this unfortunate accident. 

Well, it didn’t make her smile, but Light Spinner’s frown certainly lost some tension after hearing that. Castaspella, on the other hand, clearly wasn’t expecting it, opening her mouth and being shushed once again by Norwyn.

— SO, AS MY FINAL DECISION… I declare that Sorceress Castaspella will be receiving a renovation course on the importance of Fundamentals by Sorceress Light Spinner, starting by the end of this week…

… And Sorceress Light Spinner will be attending Sorceress Castaspella’s daily lectures for the junior apprentices. I do not want to hear another WORD about this, and may the Moons help you if I find out either of you aren’t playing nice with the other. The Mystacor Council is now dismissed.

The outrage lasts for a while. Neither of them continue their shouting match. Too many people nearby to witness them doing anything other than staring at each other for a full two minutes before Castaspella finally gets up and walks out.

Still too many people around, too much anger, when Light Spinner storms out, alone, and tries to avoid staring at Castaspella in the hallway to not consider what spell would be best at blowing her and Norwyn up. 

Less thoughts when the day ends and they haven’t seen each other for ours, but nobody else has dared to discuss the matter with them. Enough for Light Spinner to end up over-pruning three bushes, digging her scissors hard into the ground before leaving her garden behind. Also enough for Castaspella to toss around for at least two hours after going to bed, too stressed to sleep.

There’s a next day. Then another. Three days, in total, of worse-than-average classes, insomnia, wine glasses, snapping at people who don’t deserve it. On the third day, Light Spinner finally gets tired of going to bed furious.

Tomorrow, she has to face that snake of a woman again… and try to teach her. As if an old, lame pony like her could be taught new tricks. All Castaspella wants is to continue doing whatever Norwyn and the other sorcerers want her to do. Nothing new, no risks, just Mystacor forever pretending that the Horde’s slow advance and capture of the Black Garnet is nothing to be concerned about. 

“Oh, fuck this”, is her last thought immediately before grabbing some stuff and heading out of her bedchamber in the middle of the night.

Light Spinner heads to the only place that might do anything with this level of anger. She needs to forget about this, so an old, bad habit comes back. 

The shadows of night welcome her return as she walks through and outside the halls of Mystacor, bottle and book in hand.

The gardens around the altar are quiet. They always are. Perhaps they shouldn’t.

Light Spinner’s secret altar. Mystacor’s most secluded altar, down a path right by the springs. A simple thing of polished marble, on a prime spot to see all of Etheria’s moons hanging overhead, perfectly illuminating this side of the floating island. It’s an ancient spot, abandoned and overgrown since more convenient, better places of power were built, and that’s what makes it exactly perfect for her right now.

She opens the book. An old, leatherbound mess of yellowed, loosely-held-together paper with incantations written in languages she can’t quite read. Nobody can, anymore. 

The diagrams are there, though. The circles within circles, lines, angles and measurements required to perform Shadow Magic. 

Light Spinner stares at the book in silence, as she always does, reminding herself that this shouldn’t be in her possession. It should be locked away in a deep part of Mystacor’s libraries. She shouldn’t toy with this, even if she already has. 

Shadow Magic is powerful. Tens, hundreds of times more powerful than her well-known Light Magic. Mystacor prohibits most of it.

No one remembers most of the reasons for the prohibition anymore. The rituals should work, the power should still be there. It’s the same power Light Spinner feels in every Eclipse Ritual, as the reverse side of all their magic. The dark that one moon cast upon the other as they aligned. 

Light Spinner slams the book down on the altar before uncorking the bottle she carried along as well, taking a full, deep swig of Plumerian Aged Whiskey.

Three Moons, does it burn away the anger. And the throat.

She stares at the book again, reading one of the simplest diagrams before attempting it. One of the simplest Shadow spells, for starters. The tips of her fingers trace the lines in the air with one hand, as the other gets busy with reaching the bottleneck under her veil for another sip.

The spell works like a charm, simple as it is. The shadows under the book itself seem to wander off, collapsing into a single ball on the surface of the altar before raising themselves away from it, in a full, jet-black sphere. 

Her fingers control it slowly, as it sways to each side. Up, down. A spiral upwards. A loop and a half, ending by returning to the surface of the altar.

She draws figures with the shadows under her control, somewhere between a painter and a child playing with crayons. First, the Moons themselves. Then, the very same bottle of Plumerian Whiskey on her other hand. Then, Norwyn being devoured by a shadow monster.

Then, she stops.

The shadows go back to their rightful places.

Light Spinner, after a little while, closes the book, then takes another sip. 

Yeah. This is a bad habit. She shouldn’t let her anger flow into this kind of thing. Meaning the Shadow Magic. The booze is somewhat fine. Makes her want to lie down somewhere and finally feel her anger dissipate. It’s been three days, and negative emotions are tiring. 

She closes the book, silently observing the front cover before picking it up. Simple and unreadable, like all the text inside. 

Perhaps, she considers while walking back up the hidden path, she should just toss this thing over the edge and be done with it.

Or perhaps, as the thought completes itself on the way home, she should listen to the alcohol and actually do some decent relaxation in the world-renowned Mystacor Hot Springs, all alone, before heading back and shoving the book back inside her floorboards.

Second one sounds way better, and it’s exactly what Light Spinner decides before taking a short detour.

One day. Only a few hours separates Castaspella from having to bother listening to an abrasive, crass, arrogant ass of a sorceress. 

One day. And she still can’t fucking sleep. Of course.

Castaspella exhales a heavy grunt before sitting back up on her mattress, burying her face in her hands. Two hours trying to sleep, and that’s only up to the point where she stopped keeping up. 

She’s in pajamas already, some of her most comfortable ones, even. A two-piece set of fine grey silk that is supposed to be a dream to sleep in. She’s done her nightly skincare, she took a bath, she drank her tea, her hair’s finally let down, and still her eyes refuse to stay shut, all because tomorrow she has to sit and pretend like Light Spinner can teach her anything. 

Not that she’s incompetent. Castaspella wouldn’t think that of any of her peers, just… “ugh” is all she manages to think about it.

So, whatever. Casta’s taking a walk, because if she’s going to stay awake this late at night, at the very least she’s getting a nice, quiet view of the Moons. 

Grunting from the light windchill, Castaspella closes her window all the way, before grabbing a casual robe and some slippers from the wardrobe and heading outside the bedchamber. As expected, she paces the hallways completely undisturbed. Everyone’s doing what she should be doing right now. 

Mystacor’s halls are old news. She was practically born here, after all. Mystacor taught her all she knows, raised her friends alongside her, it’s the place where her brother’s going to become a sorcerer as well. All the history in these stained panels and statues is pretty much a part of her, at this point… some of the statues belong to people who are still around, even, which she always found weird. The one strange tidbit about Mystacor.

It’s what she considers, stopping in front of Light Spinner’s unfinished portrayal.

The real weird part is that it doesn’t even really look like her. They got the veil right. The mysterious look. But otherwise… it’s not her. None of the statues really look like the people they’re representing, and Castaspella, even with all her education, still isn’t sure why most of them are there. Allegedly, Light Spinner discovered some really important thaumaturgical breakthrough a few years ago, before Castaspella started teaching. 

Whatever. It’s still very weird. Specially the part where the statue does not transmit at all Light Spinner’s constant negative aura, or how it always seems like her veil is hiding the world’s deepest grimace. 

Castaspella regrets seeing this statue right now, because it only reminds her of what’s coming tomorrow… and the following weeks. Again, just “ugh”. 

Wandering a bit more, she finally reaches one exit towards the garden. It would be a special, moonlit, kind of romantic garden, were not every single one of Mystacor’s gardens moonlit and kind of romantic. 

It does have something special for Casta, though. For some reason, today, the greenhouse’s doors are open.

It’s curious. A little out of place, although not suspicious. Whoever takes care of it probably just forgot to close it properly today.

This greenhouse always interests Castaspella when she passes by it. All she can do most of the time is look through the glass, considering it’s always locked, and she has no idea who even cares for it. Mystacor has a hundred sorcerers with their own greenhouses for growing magical plants and alchemical ingredients… or just cooking spices and flowers. To each their own.

This one is mostly flowers, though, and Castaspella can smell it from a mile away. Even before she walks through the doors, the sweet perfume reaches her, holding her hand on the last steps through the threshold. 

Inside, she is gifted an amazing sight.

One of the Moons is full tonight, shining bright through the glass. Reflecting on the beautiful, almost glowing, sleeping petals of orchids, roses and daisies.

The pale nightlight doesn’t do it justice. The colors are incredible, but mostly muted, bathed in a sea of light blue. The shadows fight an uphill battle against the diamond glow of the slow-forming dewdrops.

Castaspella doesn’t know half of these plants. She’s never been a good gardener. All she knows is that they’re all beautiful. All well-cared for. Some even look particularly ripe to eat, such as a purple-petaled one with dark, beady berries hanging from it.

She’s smarter than that, though. Sorcerers should know that plants with good magical inclination can sometimes be very, very toxic. 

The one at the end of the greenhouse doesn’t look toxic, though. 

Far from it, it’s one of the most beautiful flowers Casta has ever seen. Audible, surprise-gasp beautiful.

All the other flowers seem asleep right now. These ones maintain their full bloom right under the moonlight. They seem to thrive under the moonlight, shining a glowing ice-white from their many petals. A circle within a circle, in almost perfect symmetry. Each and every one of them looking like an individual miracle. 

Queen-of-the-nights.

Suddenly, Castaspella feels glad for her insomnia. More than that, she’s thankful that someone in Mystacor took such good care of these plants, as they are possibly the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i fucked up a canon compliance point so now castaspella is micah's OLDER sister otherwise this doesn't work. whatever
> 
> stupid sexy shadow weaver


	2. Intersection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castaspella learns that Light Spinner is really good with her hands.

A white bird passes by overhead, singing it's morning chant against a clear blue sky.

The wind makes waves on the blades of grass, with a delicate flutter.

Sunlight beams down, announcing a comfortably hot afternoon.

Castaspella and Light Spinner sit across from each other, arms crossed, in absolute silence, the former staring with intense disgust as the latter keeps her eyes completely closed.

Some students run and play about, a slight ways from the two of them – some are enjoying the well-deserved break of a weekend, some are using the time to study. All of them are well-informed that the two women sitting in the gazebo at the edge of the garden, partially hidden by the willow leaves, are not to be disturbed. Even if they start screaming, or trying to bite each other's arms off, or anything of the sort.

— So. Should we start? - Castaspella ruptures their one-sided staring competition first, sighing and looking away, trying to pretend like Light Spinner isn’t there.

— …Start what? Do you actually think I’m going to waste my effort teaching you? - Light Spinner’s words feel practically forced. Exhausted. — As far as I’m aware, Norwyn merely needs to hear we spent time together.

— Ugh. What, so your big idea is that we spend an hour in silence here two days every week for the next month? 

— I’d suggest you use the time to meditate and rest. Maybe work on being alone with yourself.

Casta resists the urge to ask her the exact meaning behind that. It could just be a neutral comment. It probably isn’t. Her tone is indiscernible, and it might be sarcastic, but Casta decides she’s not going to pick another fight. One of them needs to be the mature person in this idiotic interaction.

Three minutes go by before she’s bored and irritated. This is not the time to rest or meditate or whatever, she should be doing what everyone else is and enjoying some free time, maybe catching up on some reading... 

— We’re going to be here anyway. You might as well do what you’re supposed to. - Casta gestures with her hands, somewhat exasperated.

— Or what? Are you going to tell Norwyn I’ve been bad? 

— No, I guess we’re just going to sit here and be bored together. 

Light Spinner finally opens her eyes. It catches Castaspella a bit off-guard, partially because she’s practically lying down on the table, laying her chin on her hand, and has to fumble lightly to come back to a polite pose now that she’s under attention. Partially because the green of Light Spinner’s eyes is just so... bright. 

— Hm. I’m not even sure what I should teach you. Perhaps we need to go all the way back and start with how to draw a triangle? Or I should ask you what’s the definition of a semi-circle?

— Don’t _patronize_ me.

Light Spinner’s eyes close again right after, and she stays that way, going back to her silence. Casta is, again, the one who has to cede some ground.

— Fine. Since you’re so good, show me what your student did and why it was wrong.

Receiving her full attention again, Light Spinner seems to break completely away from her trance, slowly coming back to herself. Without responding at first, and seemingly moving as little as possible, she grabs a bottle of inert reagent from her belt, uncorking it and painting a basic magic circle on the stone tabletop with her fingers.

— What Yorryn did wrong was give too much of an angle for this curve, right here, in a Blith sigil. 

Casta watches, half-curious, as Light Spinner draws a correct Blith sigil and then points to the curve in question. She’s incredibly dexterous, considering it only takes a few seconds to complete a somewhat rare, difficult sigil, when most students take almost half a minute. 

— And a Blith sigil, if drawn incorrectly… - She continues, clearing only the problem spot on the sigil. — Can become either a Peates sigil, if the curve is drawn too straight, nullifying this spell in particular… - Once again, she clears the same spot and draws again. — … Or, if the angle is too sharp, it turns into an inverted Frey sigil. Which, as you’ve witnessed, turns this certain spell extremely unstable.

— … Oh.

The enthralling explanation ends with Castaspella feeling a little embarassed.

It’s a rare mistake, but the reasoning behind it is simple. Something she would have caught if she hadn’t skipped double-checking sigilwork before jumping right into the class. 

— Rather simple, isn’t it? Simple mistakes that can cost a life. Heavens forbid one of our students ever has to face the Horde without full control over this kind of knowledge.

— Do you have to be sassy about it? I was just about to thank you for the explanation. No wonder everyone thinks you’re impossible to work with. 

Annoyed, Castaspella turns away once again, sitting with her side leaned against the back of the chair, massaging one of her temples. 

It’s all this woman ever talks about. Horde this. Horde that. They’re a threat, sure, but Mystacor is safe, well away from danger unless they try to come to it, and they don’t intend to send any students to a front line anytime soon. 

Sure, magic is dangerous, and listening to advice is beneficial. Even if the advisor is being a dick about it. By the Moons, the worst thing about Light Spinner is that she’s not wrong. After every fight, either starred or witnessed, Casta’s greatest wish is just to be able to say that she wasn’t right in the end. 

Damn it. 

— … Sorry. I didn’t mean that. I, uh… thank you. I’ll be sure to keep it in mind in case I ever sub in for anyone else like this. - Castaspella doesn’t need to check her expression to know that it’s the kind of snap that people don’t ever like to hear, no matter who they are. 

Not that it would tell her much. Light Spinner’s veil continues making her expressions mostly inscrutable. 

— … Alright. 

The short answer preludes another long silence between them, intercut by the wind moving tree branches and leaves right outside the gazebo. 

— … Anything else? - Castaspella chimes in again.

— Hm? What do you mean?

— Was this the only thing that student did wrong? It seemed like a pretty wild reaction for just a sigil switch.

— Well… don’t tell anyone I said this, but let just say that if Yorryn tried to bake a cake, he could very well end up forgetting the flour.

Castaspella already feels weird interacting with her in general. Laughing at one of her jokes should make it feel weirder.

Strangely enough, it… doesn’t. It makes the tension practically disappear, if only for a moment. 

When Casta turns back towards the table, Light Spinner is clearly… smiling. She can’t see her mouth, but the soft wrinkles around her eyes say everything.

— Is the Council of Mystacor aware that you have a sense of humor?

— Oh, I try to keep it a secret.

Castaspella has to turn away again, pretending to notice some kid doing something way over there, because the green of her eyes is blinding. 

— … If you’d like, I can offer you some real pointers for your sigilwork. Without being “sassy about it”. 

Light Spinner’s offer hits her in a strange way.

Sure, there are many competent sorcerers in Mystacor, but it’s still a bit rare when the one that offers you an actual class, despite this being a boring obligation, is one of the youngest to ever get a statue celebrating their achievements. Even if the statue really doesn’t look quite like her. 

— I suppose a refresher can’t hurt.

— Show me the base for an illusory spell. 

Deft of hand, as all sorcerers need to be, Castaspella quickly paints the air in front of her with light, making sure to get the angles of her rhombi exactly correct. Very acute angles like these are always tricky. 

The trickiest part is getting the lines to be exactly parallel. Getting them to be perfectly straight is fine, but…

— No. Your middle rhombus is lopsided.

— What? Lopsided?

Without missing a beat, Light Spinner takes control of her spell, transforming it into a larger-than-real illustration of itself in order to take a closer look.

She’s right. It’s pretty noticeably lopsided--

— Slightly off-center, too.

— Uh… whatever! I just… I haven’t been working with illusions in a while. I’m a little rusty. 

Flustered, Castaspella gestures the previous spell away, dismissing the whole thing to try again. Damn it. 

Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she tries again, this time a little more focused. Ok, so her angles should be good, she knows she can draw a perfect circle, and centering things belongs to the very instinct of sorcery. It’s just a base for an illusion, after all, lacking any sigils…

— It’s centered, but it’s still lopsided. More than before. 

Castaspella doesn’t even let her show the error this time. She tries again, immediately afterwards, a little slower this time, remembering the lessons of her youth. Start slow, work your way up. 

Matching the same speed at which Casta draws the initial circles, Light Spinner starts walking to the side, circling around to see the spell from other angles, then disappearing from her view. This time, Castaspella thinks she hasn’t missed a beat. The other bases would have worked too, providing slightly weaker spells, but this one is perfect. Third one’s the charm.

At least it’s what she imagines before the spell falls apart, once Light Spinner’s voice comes from behind her. 

— Now the inner and outer circles are too close to each other. 

— ARGH! 

Castaspella stomps her foot down, and then immediately slaps a hand on her face, hating the fact that she cannot say that Light Spinner is wrong. 

— It’s… I’m just a little off my game today, okay? I haven’t slept well the last few days. 

Her truth is met with silence, and Castaspella fancies herself a deep sigh before fixing her posture for another go.

— … Start drawing again.

Fourth time is the charm, then. Fifth. Seventh. Tenth. Whatever. Now she’s going to do this until she gets this right. 

Starting with one hand at the top and one on the bottom, Casta circles them slowly, one way, then another, then a half-circle to bring her hands to her sides.

— This is the part you’re getting wrong. Pull the lines up, first, with the tips of your fingers steady…

Drawing both of the rhombi’s top lines, Casta tries to drive straight lines directly from her chest, not her eyes. It’s always the eyes that fool sorcerers. Juniors take years to learn that they should value sensing correct sigilwork over seeing it. 

— Come back. Slowly. Do the same the other way, but tense your forearms instead of your wrists. 

It feels a little silly. This is pretty fundamental stuff, and yet… she doesn’t mind the step-by-step. It’s nice to have someone guiding her, after all these years guiding other people.

The rhombus is slowly completed. Light Spinner guides two, then three more steps, and Castaspella doesn’t have to hear her say anything to know that the spell is perfect this time.

When she opens her eyes again, she sees fingertips quickly drawing away from the back of her hands… and realizes, at the same time, that not only was Light Spinner helping guide her movements, she also isn’t sure when she started doing it.

There’s a third revelation, which she prefers to avoid thinking about. The revelation that complements the other two is that Light Spinner’s touch is so soft that it’s practically ethereal.

The spell base is complete. To fully demonstrate it, Light Spinner adds three sigils with some lightning-fast handiwork to transform it into a simple illusion of a ghostly apple.

— See? Fundamental sigilwork is all about technique. Our hands aren’t naturally good at mathematical accuracy… we have to train them properly for the intended use.

— I… yes, that does feel much… easier.

— Would you like me to show you some more? There are always improvements to be made. 

Before Castaspella can answer, or even finish lowering her arms, a little stunned from what just happened, a voice interrupts the newfound peace inside the gazebo. The illusory apple, with concentrations broken, dissipates into air.

— Professor Light Spinner. Head Teacher Norwyn has requested your presence at once in his office. - Odessa, Mystacor’s Head Secretary, barely looks at them while making notes on a clipboard.

— Odessa. Your presence is always such a treat. - Light Spinner keeps her voice at the same tone, even if Castaspella can clearly see the corners of her eyes tensing up. It’s definitely not a smile, this time. — As you can see, I am in the middle of following Norwyn’s previous orders.

— Do you need me to repeat my message? - Odessa’s reptilian-green eyes flash up towards Light Spinner for a second, and their pen makes a dead stop in the middle of a sentence. 

— … No. - Clasping her hands together in front of her chest, Light Spinner turns her head towards Casta. — … I suppose we will continue this some other time. Castaspella.

Before receiving an answer, Light Spinner leaves, following an already re-focused Odessa through the gardens back inside. Castaspella, left alone, is hit by the sudden extreme awareness of not knowing what to do with her hands, even with nobody presently looking at her. 

She still has a little bit of a beautiful day to enjoy. The sun is pretty bright. Almost too bright. 

Still, Castaspella isn’t sure that spending the last hour under shade should have ended up with her face feeling this hot right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have nothing to say. this is all extremely gay


	3. Tangent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Light Spinner has a meltdown. 
> 
> Castaspella deals with the wreckage.

The day after, Castaspella keeps trying out spells with Light Spinner's words in mind. Her advice is valuable. Her fingertips are soft.

Castaspella immediately fumbles an illusion after considering that last part, somehow conjuring an octagon instead of a triangle. Fucking shit. At least no one's around to see it, since she's alone in her bedchamber.

She still has to break into her stride for the day. Warmups are vital, after all, is what she always tells the juniors. Magic should be thought of like any other activity! Why wouldn't they need to stretch, do something easy at first to get into their rhythm, or at the very least watch someone else's casting before jumping right in? Everything benefitted from it.

Instead of casting anything else, Casta decides to stretch her arms and try to get rid of that crick in her neck. Then, by the end of a few deep stretches everywhere else, she moves to her own hands. 

She stops short, because touching her own hands suddenly feels a little weird, and she pretends to not know the reason, ignoring the perils that come with being an emotionally educated adult. 

She decides that skipping morning exercises and getting some breakfast is probably a better idea.

— Do you require anything else, Miss--

— No.

Light Spinner calmly rejects the kitchen staff's offer, staring blankly into the distance as the teenage boy walks away.

She always drinks her morning coffee alone, and she always eats her scrambled eggs and fruits alone. Everyone else in the mess hall tries to ignore her sitting in the corner, watching, and she doesn't mind. It's how things should be.

Makes it less awkward to keep her face hidden as she eats, too, with less eyes upon her. Even if the reason for their fear being a possible outburst of anger consistently gets her pissed off every single morning.

Students, in the morning, generally approach teachers for simple questions, or just chitchat, and yet none of her pupils come to her. In fact, they rarely even acknowledge her there during communal meals.

It's not that feeling like an outsider is shitty, it's just... very, very tiresome. It adds to the stress of the last few days, and also to the fact that nothing she's been trying to do before sleeping is helping much.

Still, changes of pace are usually for the worse, in her experience.

— Miss Light Spinner! Can we talk? I was doing some homework last night, and I'm confused by something, and--

— ... Good morning to you too, Fabien. Can we talk later? 

Cradling her warm coffee between her grey fingers, Light Spinner stares directly into her pupil's soul. Yes, she'd love to teach him properly, but she still hasn't gotten a good night's sleep and she really needs to devour her coffee, mug included, before actually having a proper conversation.

— Oh! Sorry, yes, good morning! It's just a really quick question, and my first class of the day is with Miss Lunara and I'd love to know the answer before because we're going to be working with--

— We are going to talk _later_ , Fabien.

Expecting at least a please that is never going to come by the end of the sentence, the student is taken aback, instanty turning apologetic and nervous. Light Spinner notices his other friends waiting for him on their way outside, near the mess hall's double doors.

— I... uh... sure... s-sorry!

Fabien runs off to his friends, and Light Spinner feels an instant pang of guilt for being too dry.

— _What did we tell you? Light Spinner is always a fucking bitch in the mornings!_

— _Ha, and the rest of the day too!_

Teenagers. 

They don't really bother with the finer things in life yet, such as the acoustics of Mystacor's great halls, or even keeping their voice down as they badmouth and laugh about her.

Light Spinner only notices that the mug she was cradling has now turned into a mess of shards and dark liquid between her suddenly very tense hands when the same boy from the kitchen staff comes by the table again.

— Uh... Miss Light Spinner, are you…

— I am fine. _Clean this up_.

Great. Now everyone's fucking staring. 

She's done with her food, anyway. Light Spinner gets up and tries her best not to stomp her feet while passing by the staff and the other teachers on her way towards the exit.

Castaspella, distracted, almost crashes straight into her by the double doors. 

— Oh! Sorry. Good mor... are you okay?

— I'M **FINE**. 

Furious, Light Spinner tries not to bother with this particular encounter being added to the top of an already shitty morning, continuing to walk away into the halls, unsure if she wants to blow something up with a spell, or just get a very early tall glass of wine already, or bounce one of those disrespectful students off a wall, or--

— Hey! Wait a minute.

With her back still turned, Light Spinner takes a breather, closing her eyes and inhaling deep, her fists slowly relaxing a bit. Just a little. Just enough use of all the centering techniques learned all those years ago to avoid having this month's fourth bout of rage. 

She turns towards Casta, carefully placing her own hands behind her back and trying to bring the dryness level in her voice down from "murderous" to simply "regular". 

— ... Yes, Castaspella? What is it?

— Did something happen to you? You look angry...er. 

— Don't be offended by this, but it's none of your business.

— Whoa, hey, I'm just worried…

— It's nothing I can't deal with myself, Castaspella. Have a good day.

Turning away again to continue her shitty train of thoughts, Light Spinner attempts to turn a corner and proceed into a lonely hallway. One of Mystacor's innumerable lonely hallways. 

— ... Were those kids laughing at you?

Oh, for fuck's sake.

— What is it to you if they were, Castaspella? 

— What is it to me is that it's not a nice thing to do to someone. I know some of our students can be a lot sometimes…

— Oh, _do you now_?

It comes out before she can think about saying it. It's impulse.

Light Spinner enjoys their newfound privacy, decently away from others, forgetting that everyone else is probably going to hear them anyway if she maintains the decision to escalate this into a fight. Castaspella reacts to her death stare quickly, and Light Spinner's subconscious suddenly wishes she hadn't picked a fight with someone before noticing that the emotion on that person's face preceding anger was... genuine worry. 

— ... What do you mean by that?

— _You_ think our students can be a lot sometimes? _You_. 

Castaspella has to stay quiet, because Light Spinner's words grow more and more forceful. Claustrophobic. Even if she's visibly angry as well now, Casta doesn't answer back. 

— Have a _guess_ , Castaspella, of how many times I have been disrespected by everyone here in Mystacor. Not just the students! The teachers. Norwyn. _You_. Do you want to guess a number? Because I've lost _fucking count_.  
What, do you think because we've had one decent moment you know who I am? That you, the beloved teacher, Norwyn's loyal subordinate, can _compare_ our lives?  
Come on. Do I make you _angry_ , like every single one of them? Scream _back_ at me! Berate me the same way you did in front of Norwyn, treating me like I'm some violent _monster_ so nobody ever has to _LISTEN TO WHAT I SAY_! 

Huffing, Light Spinner's words come to a sudden stop. Out of breath, she supports herself with one hand on one of the walls, throwing her head down to stare at the floor.

Castaspella can clearly see tears dripping down as Light Spinner tries to recompose herself. 

The silence hurts. It's aggressive to her heart. It's a million times heavier now than before Light Spinner started screaming, as if Mystacor itself paused to listen to her. 

It probably did. Who knows how many students, visitors, teachers pricked their ears up to hear every word of it. It's worse than just embarassment - it's another weight added to the opposite scale, throwing her further away from being recognized as an equal. Galvanizing her as the permanently angry, violent teacher they can't get rid of.

— ... I just... guessed I could try to be closer to you. 

Light Spinner doesn't want to look up after Castaspella answers her in a delicate tone. A tone that denotes... hurt. 

The instant regret always comes. Kicks her in the chest like the buck of a horse. Even if she desperately doesn't want it to, hearing the disappointment in Castaspella's voice hurts way worse than any mockery.

— ... I'll... leave you alone.

When Castaspella does, it stings worse than anything she could have screamed back.

People get familiar with Light Spinner's detailed schedule, the next few days, disregarding that it's a lot emptier now after a formal request to the Guild for some personal time.

For the last three days, everyone tries to avoid her. Even Norwyn hasn't bothered to come talk to her or sent any sort of message yet. With all the gossip over her meltdown, fear and worry hang heavy on the halls. 

Castaspella is the only one not really trying to avoid her. 

In fact, she's probably one of the few people really noticing that Light Spinner isn't showing up even on the last couple of things she still had scheduled. Some pupils end up having other classes. Two low-level meetings are held without her presence. 

No one really talks about it, which is what bothers Casta the most. Not that she wants to talk about it with anyone. Fire Dancer, always so tactless, was the only one who asked her directly about the fight, and Casta dodged the subject as best she could before a very dry response drove Dancer away, two days ago. 

She's still pissed off. The week started out shitty and continues being shitty, no matter if Castaspella's busy teaching a class, studying, researching or battling some pretty consistent insomnia.

It's a bit strange how much Light Spinner has been in her thoughts lately. In less than a week, the number of times Castaspella notices her hanging around her own mind probably tripled. Quadrupled. Is it even fair to compare this enormous amount against "practically nothing"? 

Castaspella watches the clouds pass in front of the Moons, pondering the past. 

Once again, Light Spinner isn't wrong. Castaspella did give her a hard time, too, along these few years of working together. She accepted the preconceptions other people gave to her, about Light Spinner being "a lot", and "very harsh". "Children hater". "Potential murderer". "Violent". "Occasional drunk". 

"Angry". 

Castaspella has to balance her emotions, and it sucks. On one hand, she would be angry as well if all people ever did for her was talk shit behind her back. On the other hand, it still... doesn't exonerate Light Spinner. Being yelled at isn't fun, and Castaspella is a fully grown adult. As much of a fully grown adult as you can be on your late twenties. 

Expecting an apology is probably out of the question, as is a real conversation, so she assumes the only real route to getting her thoughts straightened out for now is letting time and sleep do their magic.

Only problem being that this half-routine of lying in bed awake, staring out the window or doing some light reading, realizing she isn't going to sleep anytime soon, deciding to wander around until her body tires itself out, and then getting at best half the sleep she needs does no favors to her mind.

Castaspella avoids the hallway with Light Spinner's statue, this time. No need to see her again for a while. 

This time, she barely registers her path throughout the halls. When they're just being used as a coping mechanism, all the breathtaking architecture and decoration fades away into similarity.  
Every shadow looks like a stubborn memory. 

New things are bad for the brain when it's trying to rest. Rotten old things too, though. 

Out of the corner of her eye, passing by an open window, something calls her attention. Light.

It's just a speckle in the distance, could even be a firefly, but it draws her sight. Then, it's followed by another. Enough shimmers of light follow that Castaspella has to actually pay attention, to…

... To the greenhouse she found unlocked the other night. The one with all the beautiful flowers. The Queen-of-the-nights glowing under the Moons. 

Someone's in there, doing... something. Waving a lantern around? Or... casting spells? 

Curious, Castaspella decides she wants to know who's also up in the dead of night. Company would probably just keep her further awake, but at least it would make the night less lonely. Finding out who was responsible for such beauty also seemed... interesting.

Her slippers make hardly any noise as Casta moves through the sea of moonlit grass. The flickers of light continue - whoever's inside hasn't heard her. The glass walls are covered by all the leaves and vines; the only real way to look inside is through the open door, which Castaspella slowly reaches…

Inside, the sight is…

A perfect, straight line of pure light. 

Circles, symmetrical and balanced.

Angles set with milimetrical accuracy.

Unyielding parallelism. Nothing intersects where it shouldn't.

The details are minute. Parts of the spell can't even be seen from a distance. Small dots spiral inside into even smaller dots, dancing around a second, inverse spiral. It defies analogy - a weaker mind would deem it otherworldly, incapable of being in human reach. 

Perfect symmetry, hanging like a ghost in the cold air. Right in front of it's creator.

Every muscle in her shoulders is visible, enveloped in hard shadow, guiding the eyes to the slender arms, raised up towards the spell. They breathe freedom through the bicep, passing the forearm, pooling in the wrists, distributed to ten long, delicate fingers.

Light drips from the tips of her nails, placed slowly in all the correct places, inside sigils and around clusters of details. The work is done so calmly that the entire spell, under this speed, could have taken hours to complete. 

A rare spell. Something used for more mundane, sometimes forgotten reasons. An art that requires a level of skill and patience enough to reject most, if not nearly all advances. Secrets and exquisite shapes that required, above all, real taste. Dedication. True love for the craft.

Calligraphers and artists all around Etheria had an age-old competition against the sorcerers of Mystacor. Their paths intersected more often than common folk could imagine, all of them dedicated towards the same thing: absolute control of every nerve constructing their very hands.

Castaspella couldn't believe she was privy to such an event. A secret invasion of an intimacy she wouldn't dare show to others herself.

She couldn't take her eyes off of Light Spinner's fingers as they danced in the air, plucking the glowing strings of magic under complete concentration.

The enthrallment was such that she almost forgot to notice that Light Spinner was practicing spells almost in the nude.

There _were_ clothes involved. Considering that she had only ever seen Light Spinner under her heavy sorceress' robes, though, pajama shorts and a tank top accounted for practically nothing. And Castaspella could have focused on so much; the shape of her legs, the curve of her hips, the skin on her shoulders, the hint of her lower back that the slightly raised tank top laid bare…

... True shock, though, came later.

First, Light Spinner finished her spellwork. After however long the Moons witnessed her for, the sigils and shapes were finished and quietly casted away.

Light Spinner's long hair, mostly tied to a simple ponytail, wisped against the air currents drawn in by the ripples of magic through the greenhouse. Soon, the leaves and petals did the same.

The spell dissipated. Every carefully-drawn line, curve and angle melted away into the ground, falling in a glittering shower in front and to the sides of the caster's body. The light-powder turned into a series of bends and turns - vines, or snakes, slithering away into the roots of all the plants, infusing them with energy. The sap inside them shone, slightly dimmed by the colorful skins of Light Spinner's secret garden.

An invigoration spell. Something Castaspella had only seen before in ridiculously minuscule levels compared to this.

An incontrollable, audible gasp made her take flight. It was bad enough to be secretly watching such an amazing display of power, the true intimacy of a sorcerer. That person being Light Spinner made it thousands of times worse.

It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

As Castaspella finally stopped running the scene in her head, being lulled to sleep by the repetition of the symbols, and the beautiful symmetry, and the movement, and the how delicate were her _hands_... she couldn't help but consider whether "the most beautiful thing" applied primarily to the event itself, or to the split-second glimpse, as Light Spinner turned around in search of the intruder, of the real face under the veil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you WILL look at this villain's entire life story and you WILL feel a little bit of empathy


	4. Angle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Light Spinner doesn't want to admit she doesn't know what a thimble is.

It's been a week already, and what a week has it been.

Thinking about it that way, almost makes Light Spinner feel like anything actually happened. No, it was a lonely week. A week of moping around, taking a long, slow time-off after her latest meltdown. One week with as little social interaction as possible.

It's not a particularly good week. Not a bad one either, though. It gives her a chance to catch up on some reading, have some wine, take care of her garden when no one else is awake... most of all, sleep a lot to try and forget just how much the Sorcerer's Guild hates her.

Norwyn sends a letter, by the end of her downtime. Hoping for an apology it's useless, but it's not... bad.

" _Professor Light Spinner,_

_I write to you on behalf of the Guild. We hope that the personal time you have taken has given you some respite, peace of mind, and renewed your strength._

_I assure you that your absence has been felt - your contribution is missed. The senior researchers are eager to have your supervision again, as are your apprentices._

_That being said, I can personally comprehend that the work we do in Mystacor can take a great toll on both mind and body. The Guild understands and appreciates everything you've done in the years you've been with us, and so it seems only fair to ensure you that we would be happy to accomodate if you need more time._

_Regards,  
Head Sorcerer Norwyn_"

Sitting by the window, swirling a glass of wine with her free hand and feeling the cool breeze on her naked face, Light Spinner ponders lighting the fireplace to toss the letter inside.

It's honest. It's what irritates her the most. Norwyn, the old fool, is all about peace. She stops herself from trying to read too much subtext, overthinking the words "peace of mind" or "great toll", considering the fact that it isn't a proper apology, or that she wouldn't accept it even if it was.

Taking a deep breath, she resists the urge to crumple the piece of parchment and stomp on it, opting to sip her wine and stare a crater into Redmoon. 

It's something. 

It's enough. 

It needs to be enough, or she's not getting out of this room anytime soon.

— Alright, darlings! Ready to pick up where we left... off…

The next afternoon, Castaspella is clearly not expecting it when she walks into the classroom and Light Spinner is right there, sitting in the corner, legs crossed and a notebook carefully open over her lap. 

Casta hold her silence for a moment, before regaining her composure.

— ...Oh! And I suppose Professor Light Spinner will be joining us for today's lesson…

Light Spinner stares right into her eyes, considering whether or not this is going to be worth the effort. It's an obligation, scheduled in advance, and Light Spinner follows her obligations.

That's all. Even if the Guild itself, sloppy as it always is, probably wouldn't even notice if Light Spinner didn't show up. Odessa certainly hadn't come knocking on her door this time around.

One silent nod is all Castaspella gets for now, and it's enough. Light Spinner looks away into her notebook, deciding not to consider if the smile in return is just Castaspella's gregarious nature, or... 

... Well, it certainly couldn't be anything else. It's been a week, but... the last memory Castaspella has is of her screams, beckoning the sorceress into a fight she clearly didn't want to have. That smile certainly can't be genuine happiness. This is all just the tiresome, eternal façade of Mystacor.

— Okay! Well, let's get on with it then, shall we? Open up page 28, if you please…

The time goes by quickly. Surprisingly quickly.

It's not an advanced class, by any means... they're all things that Castaspella has already heard and read a million times. The limits of illusions. Questions and quizzes about how some spells can and do react to bodily response and emotion. Light Spinner barely takes any notes. Nothing here is new... and still, she is kind of enraptured.

Castaspella makes a lot of it sound easy. Not 'easier than it really is', just... easy. The students seem to get the gist of it, and she hovers around them as they do their exercises, caringly listening to their qualms. Giving them enough to come to their own conclusions. Being the kind of teacher that Light Spinner would have liked to have around when she was a student. 

Light Spinner stays quiet the entire class. 

Castaspella, other than a couple of quick looks, possibly when she thought Light Spinner wasn't going to notice, also barely acknowledges her presence after the class has gone on for a while. Too busy teaching her pupils about...

— ... Oh, no, look. Here's your mistake, dear. You must remember to keep a steady hand with _every_ line, okay? Fundamental sigilwork is all about technique.

...

It's a nice moment.

It could be enough.

Castaspella enjoys a moment of silence after waving goodbye to the students for the day. 

She keeps her back turned towards the inside of the room, even as she's stepping backwards to close the solid wooden door. Her hand rests on the golden doorknob before she spins slowly on her heels.

— _So_. What brings you here?

Strange question, Light Spinner considers, but one that needs to be answered.

Light Spinner rests her fountain pen over her now closed leatherbound notebook, holding her hands over her lap.

— My obligations. I was scheduled by the council to be here, if you remember. As part of our mutual punishment.

— Is my class _that_ bad? 

Castaspella holds a smirk on her lips, always favored by her signature black lipstick. Light Spinner considers looking away, and her decision against it costs her the presence of mind of actually answering whatever Castaspella just asked.

— ... Are you feeling better?

— ... I feel fine. 

Light Spinner lies, but only a little. Just enough to feel like her guard isn't down. Her gaze switches position to stare at the sky outside one of the windows on the back of the class. She watches a grey cloud slowly pass by, pretending not to notice that she lost her chance to avoid being alone with Castaspella a few minutes ago.

Putting the discretion of her veil to good use, Light Spinner swallows dry, feeling her throat suddenly become very, very itchy.

— Okay. Good to know. 

This. This right here. The moment after Castaspella speaks is the reason why Light Spinner hasn't bothered trying to move past the "distant acquaintances" or "colleagues" stage with anyone in the last few years. 

The awkward silence. The deeply shitty moment where she knows she should be saying something. Where she should be making at least an attempt to reach out, to let people know that she understands the rare moments where people evolve from seeing her to actually looking at her. 

In this case, it's worse, since it's also the moment where she knows she should be apologizing. It's been a week. She had enough time to understand that Castaspella wouldn't have enjoyed being yelled at for something that wasn't even her fault. Something... Light Spinner hated having to admit this to herself, but something Casta actually tried to help with. 

— Do we, uh... have anything else we need to discuss, Light Spinner?

— Am I keeping you from your own obligations, Castaspella?

— Not really, if I'm being honest. After this class I always end up having two hours of, well... sitting on my thumbs, not really doing any work... maybe staring out a window.

— Ah, "office hours", then. 

Castaspella laughs.

It's a natural laugh. Comes out visibly easy. She raises a hand over her mouth, almost as if she's trying not to laugh too hard, keeping her fingers hovering on the air in front of her dark lips. 

Light Spinner smiles under her veil, looking at her. The way she laughs is…

... Is hard to describe. She could try. Maybe "genuine", or "delicate". Perhaps "gentle" and "airy". "Soothing". "Flowery". 

Light Spinner has never been really good with words, in that way. Describing how things are in the world is a breeze - everything is objective. Real things are made of lines, curves and angles, and they're either right or they're wrong. She could properly describe for how long Castaspella laughs, or the way her expression changes, or the way the soft grey light bends around her cheeks…

Describing how it made her feel was... different. It made her feel like she wanted to her that laugh again.

— Office hours, yeah. 

Castaspella moves away from the door, perching her hips over one of the many desks in the classroom. She moves a finger up to scratch the tip of her nose, looking away from Light Spinner into some distant point on the blackboard in front of her. The silence comes back, but her smile is still there. This time, it's... an easier silence.

— ... I suppose I should... 

"Apologize". "Reflect on my past behavior". "Thank you". 

Castaspella's head perks up as Light Spinners tries to get her words out. Any words at all. Before too much time goes by and she's just being weird, not finishing her sentences.

— ... leave you to your non-work.

Light Spinner gets up from her chair, stuffing her notebook inside one of her robe's pockets and adjusting the clothing on her body for a moment before preparing to leave the room. She walks to the exit, getting closer to Castaspella. Her steps feel slower than usual, even if she's walking at a normal speed. She is, right? This is a normal speed to walk at. By the Moons, why is being in this room right now bothering her so much?

— ... Light Spinner. 

Already having passed Castaspella, Light Spinner freezes with her hand on the doorknob, her back turned towards her once again. A bad memory of being in this exact position before the shouting floats to the top of her mind.

— Would you like to, uh... 

Her heartbeat shifts gears. She doesn't want to 'talk about it'. She doesn't want to apologize. She doesn't owe an apology. She doesn't want to hear whatever is coming at the end of that sentence. She doesn't want to run away from it. 

— ... Would you like to join me for some tea in, say, an hour? If you're free, that is. As you know, I'm... not going to do anything right now.

Light Spinner turns around, keeping her face steady in spite of the war drums marching on her ears. 

— ... Join you for tea? 

— In my office. I know you've said you're only doing this because it's an obligation, but it's been a while since another teacher has been on one of my classes. I'd like to maybe get your feedback. If that's not a problem.

She almost doesn't notice the way Castaspella clutches the fabric of her sleeve tight under her fingers. Once again, she's thankful for her veil, because her mouth is pretty much just hanging open under it. 

Deciding on what to think of all this is impossible.

Deciding what to do, somehow, comes easier.

— Sure. 

— Okay. I... I'll see you in an hour, then. 

With a simple nod, Light Spinner turns to leave again, this time actually opening the door. Some students pass by, running where they shouldn't be, and for once it doesn't bother her. Probably not as much as the next hour is going to.

Her hand, after leaving the doorknob, rests on the frame, and her feet freeze once again, right on the threshold, indecisive between moving forward or letting the lump on her throat do something useful.

— I shouldn't have screamed at you the other day.

Before Castaspella can answer, Light Spinner moves away into the hallway, walking away. At a normal pace. This is a normal pace of walking. She's sure it is. Maybe not _that_ sure. Whatever. If she keeps walking and thinking about walking, she doesn't have to leave space for the thought that Castaspella might be now by the door too, watching her leave.

She's not sure whether she wants Castaspella to be watching or not. She's not sure whether her shitty attempt at an apology is enough.

It needs to be enough.

Castaspella's office matches her, somehow. 

Teacher's offices tend to be so similar to each other. Light Spinner's, even, is similar to this one. Tall bookshelves reach the ceiling, filled with the wisdom across the ages that Mystacor offers. Some of the books look very old. Some look definitely untouched. Light Spinner tries not to judge.

She keeps her window open, overlooking the infinite expanse of the sky above and below Mystacor. In clear days, it could be possible to see the continental shores, all the way down there, pass the field of invisibility. Some of the other floating islands drift along, each with their own goings-on.

By the window, a small table with two chairs, all made from expensive, ornate wood. Draping over it, purple tablecloth with gold and black details that... if it's handmade, it sure says something about Castaspella's handcrafting skills.

Castaspella's fondness for working with textiles is clear, as it's the second most prominent thing in the office other than books. Splayed over a spare chair in the corner, she has a bag with yarns of different colors, two large needles stabbed through them. Not to mention that a display case pinpoints her as being a collector. Of... 

... Something. 

— Do you like them? It's a small collection, but it took me years. I don't bother adding one if it's not as pretty as the others.

— Hm. Yes, it's a high quality collection.

What the fuck are these things? 

They're... upside down cups with a bunch of little dots on a convex surface. Most are made of different metals. Brass, silver, iron... there might even be some gold in there. Some have more square angles, some are more curved, some look more like rings while others look more like little bells. 

— I mean, they're not the ones I generally use when I'm sewing, but I like having them. I think they show just how different the tools people use for the same activity can be, right?

Okay, so these are some sewing implement. That's enough for now. Light Spinner still really wishes she knew what the fuck these things are. It really feels like something she should know about, and it makes her feel a little dumb that she definitely doesn't.

— I didn't know which tea you liked, so I made two pots. Chamomile and black. Which do you prefer?

In decades of existence, she can't think of a single time in her life someone ever offered her this kind of choice.

It's a choice that makes her internal deflection of over-focusing on Castaspella's knicknacks and decorations suddenly melt away, once again giving breathing room to all of her preoccupations from the last hour.

Light Spinner places the tiny inverted-cup back down on it's shelf after both unsuccesfully examining it and being embarassed to ask what it is. Tea is easier to deal with. Even if she'd rather keep exploring the nooks and crannies of her office, trying to figure out little pieces of her mind by the kind of clutter she keeps over her desk, the books she has and hasn't read, appreciating the rug or the curtains, the notes on Castaspella's personal blackboard, or how the room would look nicer with just one potted plant... the tea beckons.

— ... Chamomile. One spoon of sugar. 

It's enough.

It's kind of silly to think that they really started this conversation talking about Castaspella's class. 

Or, more appropriately, with Light Spinner dancing around the subject as to not properly admit that Casta seems like a great teacher. As great of a teacher someone could be if you only saw one of their classes, but... a great teacher, nonetheless, considering Light Spinner sometimes got bored of her own voice during her own classes.

After twenty minutes or so, Light Spinner's shoulders finally relax. Maybe it's the tea. Maybe it's how their conversation slowly turns into gossip about the students.

After forty minutes, Castaspella's posture on her chair is... different. Light Spinner pretends to herself that she doesn't notice it, but also doesn't hazard a guess as to what it means. Castaspella leans closer to the table, always keeping one hand close to her chin. Sometimes she scratches the tip of her nose before laughing at something. 

After an hour and a half, the sun has gone down, and the Blue Moon drifts overhead. Castaspella turns on a crystal-lamp, bathing the room in a soft orange. 

Bathing her face in a wonderful color. 

At some point, Light Spinner's hands feel free, as she uses them to gesture in the air while talking. It's still mostly gossip. Sometimes it's a question about the work in the Guild they both have done in all these years. Sometimes it's a snappier comment at a teacher or a student. 

— Can you believe Lunara once tried to criticize my research on how animals react to illusions? Lunara. 

— Whatever do you mean, Castaspella? I'm sure she has a lot to say after that... very _graceful_ event with the goats in the Kingdom of Snows. 

There's not a laugh, this time. Castaspella's lips just curl into a cheeky smile, and her eyes slowly roll around. Her arms cross under her chest as she shakes her head.

— Ah, it's good to talk to someone who gets it, you know? Some of the teachers here can be so... so _much_ , sometimes. 

Light Spinner enjoys the fact that Castaspella's momentarily distracted. It gives her a chance to observe. To take mental notes. To slowly place her hands back on her lap, discreetly fidgeting her fingers under the table. This conversation is a game, and she's sure that it makes both of them a little nervous; they might be more relaxed now, but there are little signs everywhere. 

This is all out of the ordinary. Conversations between people who barely know each other should be stunted and awkward, not... like this. 

Fun.

Oh, for fuck's sake, she'll tell herself anything to not admit that she can't take her eyes off of the beautiful, masterfully handwritten curve of Casta's smile.

— More tea? 

Castaspella moves towards the second teapot, seconds before realizing that it's empty. That it's been empty for the last half hour of enthralling conversation.

— Oh.

Maybe it's a chance to leave. It's weird. Light Spinner feels weird. She was screaming at her face only a few days ago, and now she's here, drinking tea together and shit-talking people she thought were universally beloved.

— ... It's getting a little late. Maybe I should--

— No, no, I can brew another pot…

— It's really not a problem, Castaspella…

Light Spinner has already had a couple of more personal encounters in her life. She hasn't spent almost thirty years alone, after all - only the few years in Mystacor. 

She uncrosses her legs. Crosses her again in the other direction. Realizes she's been avoiding Casta's black eyes by staring at the night sky, looks at Casta again. Grips her own index finger hard under the table, fucks around with a hangnail on the corner of her thumb. Gets up from her chair, indecisive between sitting back down or moving towards the door.

— Or maybe, uh, you'd like something else? I do have something saved for a special occasion…

A long while has passed since her first time feeling flustered; enough to think that she wouldn't really feel flustered ever again, that the time in her life for fumbling her thoughts and feeling her breath hitch would be gone, never to return.

It all comes back like a punch to the gut.

Special occasion.

— Which... would be...?

Castaspella quickly kneels behind her desk, opening a drawer. After the low noise of papers rustling, and some fumbling around, she comes back with... a vintage bottle of wine.

Mystacor Crystal-Wine. A twenty-year-old "Ruby", swirling inside an ornate dark-red bottle behind the gold-and-black label. Unopened.

— I'm not really a wine expert or anything, but…

— That is…

Light Spinner is not sure anymore whether she's pretending to ignore the words "special occasion" or not, nor does she care.

Her fingers touch the bottle, a fingertip accompanying the text on the label to ensure her that she really is reading the name and year right. 

— ... some _excellent_ wine, Castaspella.

— ... Is it? 

Light Spinner's fingertips slip around the glass. 

It takes a second for them to notice their hands brushing against each other. Another second for Light Spinner to notice that they are really, really close to each other. 

Closer than they were in the garden. Closer than Light Spinner has been with anyone else in years. 

Three things happen in quick sucession when Light Spinner's eyes raise back up from the label.

First, a heavier breeze invades the room. The curtains float gently away from their positions. Pieces of loose paper and parchment fly around over Casta's desk, as do the black locks of hair that have come loose from her bun, caressing her cheeks. 

Second, a shift in Castaspella's expression, with her eyelids now hanging low, her delicate, dark lips stay parting slightly open, and her black eyes staring right back into Light Spinner's.

Third, Light Spinner's recollection of the words "special occasion" make her realize, at the exact same time, both that the last two hours chitchatting, laughing together and sipping tea can only be describe as a fucking date, and that she really needs to go to the bathroom this exact fucking second. 

— I, uh…

Her words bunch up inside her mouth. She's pretty sure that if this isn't defused soon, she's going to start sweating. It's a perfectly cool night out, and she's going to start sweating. She's going to fucking explode, that's what. 

Castaspella visibly swallows something stuck in her throat when Light Spinner starts moving away. One centimeter. Two. One sudden jerk away, and it's ten, twenty, a half-meter.

— It's... a really nice offer, Castaspella, but I, uh…

— No, yeah, I totally…

— ... Still have to get some... work done…

— Oh yeah, busy morning tomorrow…

— We can talk again some other…

— ... Some other time, certainly, Light Spinner, I'd be glad to…

— Anyway, I should…

— Yes, yes, don't let me keep you, thanks for the company…

— Of course, it was... was uh…

Somehow, in the last few seconds, Light Spinner has moved towards the door. Apparently she has opened it already, too. She has no recollection of walking outside the room. Or deciding to look back as she's closing the door again. Nor is she sure of how long it takes between starting her last sentence and finishing it.

— ... It was a very pleasant evening.

It's way, way more than enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tf you doin!!!! just kiss her already bro!!!! god damn!!!!!


	5. Dimension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Guild confirms Light Spinner's full-fledged, personal, non-transferrable ownership over the short end of the stick.

  
  
  
  


— Odessa, can you please explain to me, in detail, what " _sent away_ " means?

— It means that the Council of the Sorcerer's Guild has deemed fit for you to represent us in a small diplomatic exchange.

— An ambassador, then.

— A _representative_ , Professor Light Spinner.

Light Spinner stares at the glorified errand girl in front of her desk. Every single time she has to deal with Odessa, she knows she's dealing with Norwyn, in all honesty. Odessa is little more than a mouthpiece, a hardass to take care of the conversations Norwyn is either too much of a coward to have himself or too worried about damaging his image of a level-headed, just person. If the almighty Headmaster just started screaming back, how different would they be, after all?

There always comes this point in their conversations where she plainly thinks to herself about how Odessa is smaller than her. She wouldn't even need to use magic to shove the secretary into a closet somewhere.

It's not an angry thought... not exactly, at least. More of a reaction to how Odessa always has that look behind her glasses marking a potent desire to commit a murder and get away with it. Light Spinner still isn't quite sure who she wants to kill, but she 's definitely on the list herself.

Some of her motivation for the consistent hate, though, is the deep-seated doubt of many years that, whenever Norwyn sends her a letter, Light Spinner always suspects that the real hand writing it all along was Odessa. Not that the orders are fake - but that she would have the liberty to phrase them in just the right way to be…

...A huge bitch, basically. That's who Odessa is in her eyes, by the end of the day. Just a huge bitch. 

— _Where_ and _why_ am I being sent to represent the Guild?

— As to the where, the citadel of Bright Moon.

Great.

Light Spinner is already angry at the news. She wasn't planning to get _sent off_ anywhere, specially right after finally starting to consider that maybe things in the Guild could be a little more peaceful coming from her end. Maybe, just maybe, there were people here she could try to tolerate a bit more. People she could actually enjoy being around. Not every day needed to be made of thankless teaching and skulking around the corridors, just trying to plan ahead for the next time she gets to experiment with forgotten magic or hang out alone with a bottle of wine and a good book.

But of course the Guild isn't going to take the threat of her possible happiness lightly.

Just the idea of being sent away isn't enough. They have to send her to Bright Moon, making a point to punch her in the gut. 

The one place in the Kingdoms one would think cared about being invaded by the Horde, but no. They preferred to sit in the comfort of their homes and their stagnant half-alliances, never acting on anything, always pretending the Whispering Woods, or the Sea-Gate, or the northern frosts, or whatever would protect everyone from the invaders forevermore. 

Besides, Queen Angella personally infuriates her. 

Children shouldn't run kingdoms, and Angella has barely stopped being a teenager. Immortal or not, "having won her right to lead through work and care" or not, Angella is still decently younger than her. Why the fuck does she get to run a kingdom? 

Light Spinner slowly closes her eyes, then opens them again, wishing that the split-second behind her eyelids would have made Odessa suddenly disappear. 

She's still there. Of course.

— And why?

— First and foremost, because these are the orders of the Guild.

Odessa never smiles, and Light Spinner hates that. She can practically _hear_ her cocky smile, and yet the reptilian stare behind her glasses remains serious, inscrutable. It's the only pleasure people like her, small, powerless and still arrogant, get off on - relaying the orders of the truly powerful.

— Second, because Bright Moon has requested the expertise of a sorcerer to help maintain certain arcane devices. You'll receive further instructions from Queen Angella's court.

— You are interrupting my return to work to make me be a _magical repairman_. 

— Hm. I was told that you should consider it...

Odessa rolls her pupils to the corners of her eyes, as if she's thinking of which words to use. The phrasing that would piss Light Spinner off the most. 

— ... An extension of your sick leave. Regular folk, at least, find changes of scenery to be very relaxing. 

Light Spinner slowly straightens up her posture on the chair, trying her best to disguise the movement of her hands. Attempting to quell her own fury, she places them over her lap, under the desk, gripping one against the other as hard as she possibly can. Her skin will definitely have some nail marks later, but it's either this or twisting Odessa's neck right then and there. 

Come on. Less angry thoughts. People like her a little more when she's not this angry. Just dial it down a little bit. Odessa's almost leaving.

She sure takes her sweet fucking time to leave her chair, though, spending long, painful seconds waiting for a response that isn't going to come - if Light Spinner dares to open her mouth right now, her sick leave is going to be spent in prison.

Odessa adjusts her glasses slowly, carefully pinching them by one of the hinges, now looking down at Light Spinner. She even takes a while to inhale... and then exhale.

— Right, then. I'll be off. Please present yourself in two days to the Mystacor Waystation to board the transport to Bright Moon. Safe travels, Professor Light Spinner.

When Odessa _finally_ leaves, closing the door behind herself, Light Spinner knows without even looking that the back of her hand now has thick drips of blood pooling under her nails.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Castaspella misses her.

Wait, no, not like _that_. Castaspella misses her because, for some reason, Light Spinner doesn't show up to their garden meeting, and as much as Casta doesn't want to admit it, she was really looking forward to it this time. 

She hasn't seen her in a couple of days, in fact. 

It's not exactly unusual, specially after... well, after... well, Mystacor is a big place, it's not like they need a _reason_ to avoid each other, it just happens. Castaspella hasn't been fidgeting with her fingers for the past hour, even before coming to the gazebo, because she keeps thinking about their last meeting or anything. Maybe she should just take out the knitting needles from her bag already to pass the time, right? Maybe not? Light Spinner should drop by any second now, right?

But the minutes go by, and she just... doesn't show up.

The needles eventually come out, because they have to come out, because Casta needs to either start knitting or stab herself in the hand to stop thinking that their last meeting is the reason why Light Spinner isn't showing up. At first, Castaspella keeps looking up expecting to see Light Spinner walking across the grass towards her. Like, sure, she's not an oblivious teenager anymore, there's _something_ going on between them and she's not currently ready to put a pin on how she feels about it, but they're mature, right? They don't have to be weird about some... non-hostile tension. Especially considering that they work in the same fucking place, and even if it's big they're going to eventually run into each other again. Mystacor is an island, after all. There aren't _that_ many places to run off to before dropping out of the sky altogether.

Still, when the light of the sky starts changing color, Castaspella accepts that, for some reason, she's really just... not coming.

Whatever. It's just one missed meeting, and it's a "work thing" anyway. No need to be heartbroken over one day off their mutual punishment being blown off. Besides, she should try and get some conscious rest, because the heavens know that her dreams haven't been too kind lately. Light Spinner keeps appearing in them, one way or another. 

Castaspella puts her knittingstuffs away again, carrying her bag back inside the Halls, consistently chewing the inside of her cheek all the while.  
  
  
  
  
  
Somewhere in the way back to her room, Castaspella takes a different path, a lesser shortcut between the long path through the office rooms she doesn't need to go to, and the shorter path close to the greenhouse garden she doesn't want to go to. In one of the secluded corridors, near one of the libraries, she finds Norwyn. 

He generally isn't alone like this. Not without being terribly busy, anyway. Now, he's just sitting on a bench in one of the hallways, back turned to a window casting the last rays of sunlight, absorbed in reading a book.

She stops a little ways from him, partially shadowed, considering whether or not to pass by. He's probably going to be interrupted if she even just walks by, right? Norwyn looks like he wasn't expecting anyone else to come here and interrupt his reading, since everyone always wants his ear for something.

On the other hand, if someone knows where people are in Mystacor, that would be the guy in charge of knowing everything that goes on in Mystacor. 

— Hello, Headmaster.

— Hm? Oh!

He lifts his eyes from the pages, and then closes the book, holding it backside-up over his lap. Smiling, he starts to get up to welcome Castaspella, but a gesture of her hand is enough to make him stay on the bench.

— Hello, Professor Castaspella. Good to see you. Had a good day today?

— Oh, yeah. Pretty regular day. You?

— Regular day as well. Just trying to catch up on some reading... I don't get a lot of offtime during the week, after all.

His chuckle seems genuine. Castaspella doesn't really care too deeply whether or not he's pleased to see her, at least right now. If she was enjoying her alone time reading, she'd probably be feigning a bit to blow off her company, and Norwyn wouldn't have been the first person to blow her off today... no, come on, she doesn't want to go there again. Not right now.

— Yes, yes. I'm all done with my work today, so I'm just heading back to my room…

— Good, good. You're always on top of your work! Your rest is well deserved. 

Castaspella agrees with her head, even if her mind is somewhere else. She responds his smile with one of her own, clutching the strap of her bag. 

— Yes. Well, uh... good evening to you, Headmaster.

— Good evening to you too, Professor Castaspella.

She starts walking away, and even if he's behind her back now, she knows he's already coming back to his book. Yeah. She doesn't need to ask him anything right now. Specially him, right? Norwyn isn't necessarily going to know where Light Spinner is.

Still, she turns around, and Norwyn really is back to his book already. Looking up a little more confused, he closes it again, slowly.

— Is there a problem?

— Excuse me, uh... I just needed to ask you something, Headmaster.

— ... Yes?

— Do you know if L--... if Professor Light Spinner is busy with something? Today is the day where she's supposed to, uh... meet me for _fundamentals_ lessons, but she didn't show up. I haven't seen her in a couple of days, actually.

— Oh, yes! I apologize, I should have warned you so you wouldn't have wasted your time.

— Warned me?

Norwyn, putting his book completely aside and turning sideways on the bench towards her, now holds a more serious expression, even if his smile is still somewhat present.

— Yes, yes. My, I should have sent Odessa to you right after... Light Spinner didn't show up because she's not currently at the Guild. 

— Wait, what do you mean she's not currently at the Guild? Did something happen? 

— Ah, Professor Castaspella, it really is comforting to see how you really do care about everyone, no matter what. Even if it's a piece of work such as her.

Norwyn's words aren't just hard to hear - Castaspella feels downright stunned.

— You can rest easy, I'd say that putting you too together wasn't one of my best ideas anyway. Did she even show up to your classes, after all, or did you just show up to hers? In retrospect, I kind of hope that you two didn't end up having to really interact much... I've been hearing some ghoulish stories over the state of Light Spinner's temperament these past few weeks.

Castaspella tries not to show it too much, but she's definitely more than a little confused. Did he not even... check if they were following his orders? 

Did he even check in on how Light Spinner's been doing? At all? 

Norwyn, apparently giving up on his reading, gets up and places his book somewhere between the folds of his robes. He walks towards her, still maintaining his smile, and touches her arm gently for a moment.

— The Guild has decided, considering her recent... _outbursts_ , to arrange a little exchange with the citadel of Bright Moon so that she can, you know, _cool off_ from teaching for a bit by helping others. 

He goes on, and she honestly can't believe that he has more to say.

— I apologize for burdening you with her. Even if I was more than a little _peeved_ at the meeting, you don't deserve having to handle her. Nobody does. Light Spinner always thinks she knows everything.

Castaspella can't quite remember her answers afterwards. Platitudes, for sure, considering that Norwyn visibly doesn't catch on to her processing of the information.

— Don't worry about any more _fundamentals_ lessons. Thankfully, _good_ teachers such as you can figure out their mistakes by themselves.  
  
  
  
  
  
She reminds herself of the exact wording he used during the meeting. Some of it, at least, the part that hasn't been lost through time. The way Norwyn berated her so deeply for her faults, compared to this... coddling.

He's wrong about her being able to notice her own mistakes, and wrong over the very idea that she didn't deserve having those mistakes corrected.

He isn't wrong about everything, though.

Light Spinner isn't an easy person. Over that much, he's right. Even after their shared classes, their rapport, the day in Casta's office, and even the fight in the hallways, Castaspella still doesn't quite feel like they've connected. The wall between them is still pretty thick, and a good portion of that comes from her own heart.

Talking to her, no matter how naturally the words come, always feels a bit dangerous. Casta has to watch out how to build her phrases, like she could say the wrong thing at any moment.

Like Light Spinner could suddenly realize who Castaspella really is, and that a handful of moments don't compensate the fact that they've always been on opposite sides of the table in their meetings, and that Castaspella has actively chosen to avoid her more than once. That Castaspella...

That Castaspella has always been on his side.

"Mystacor needs to breathe easy from all the negativity sometimes", he says.

Norwyn, no matter how much he pretends otherwise, doesn't seem to understand how magic changes people. The distinct way that becoming better at wielding magic makes them deeper. How all sorcerers slowly reach out to pieces of themselves they didn't even know existed, and how the magic itself doesn't care whether those pieces are good or bad. It only cares about exposing those pieces.

He only sees one single dimension of it. 

Norwyn sees the angry Light Spinner. The resentful sorceress whose reasoning for being upset is never valid, justified by her bad temper in the same breath as he admits to outright hostility against the mere idea of having her around.

He doesn't see the other sides of her. The depth of her knowledge, the height of her technique, the length of her studies.

The way her hands dance in the air under the moonlight, drawing careful, beautiful sigils.

When they finally part ways, Castaspella, still standing in the middle of the hallways as the light grows dimmer and dimmer, feels fucking furious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i'm back. sorry there's an apocalypse going on. anyway here's gearing up for some future bullshit and, also, wonderwall
> 
> (the next two chapters are pretty much done already so the next update is coming probably next week. don't throw rocks at me)


	6. Parallels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loneliness, interrupted.

  
  
  
  


Working in Bright Moon isn't as bad as she had hoped it would be.

It's still bad. Just not _as_ bad. 

Light Spinner is still busy doing, by all definitions, grunt work. Any lesser sorcerer would suffice for this, translating arcane instructions and diagrams from near-obsolete magical machines into more modern wording, so that Bright Moon (i.e. her own damn self) can actually teach the new workers on how to handle things properly. She wonders whether Norwyn sent her here for this as some form of ironic justice, having to actually teach people on how to avoid blowing themselves up.

If there is a bright side at all, it's that she gets to change out of her robes for a bit. The jury's still out on whether or not it's a bright side, considering she only does it because Bright Moon can get disgustingly hot and humid this time of the year, and of course she, expecting temperature ranges befitting regular life and not a heatwave-ridden summer, hasn't brought any clothes that correctly fit the climate. Hell, Light Spinner doesn't even _own_ any clothes to deal with the level of heat they're getting during the day. What is she supposed to wear? A _sundress_ , so that everyone can stare at her legs? _Shorts_? Eugh.  
  
  
  
  
  
The first day, she's just plain miserable. She meets with the young Queen Angella, who barely gives her the time of day, busy with some nonsense about an upcoming noble ball. They present her to her new holding cell, a bedroom that's just... too open. Too comfortable. Too much. 

Before briefing her on the work, they even introduce her to her "coworkers", which for absolute certain are just supervisors pretending to be friendly. Two historians that talk a little too much about each other for her taste, and also too much about work, and also too much about _everything_ , because the main thing she always hates about coming to any of the Kingdom's citadels is that no one ever _shuts up_ , as if the concept of silence itself was alien to them. Plus, George and Lance are clearly desperate to get into each other's pants, even if they haven't realized yet, and Light Spinner really isn't in the mood to be around... that.

The worst part of it all is that she doesn't even feel the desire to be angry about it.

It's a dumb situation. She's being treated like a kid being given a time-out. The people are annoying, the work isn't challenging, and it's a terrible surprise to remember how difficult it is to get any decent liquor in Bright Moon, because everyone here heeds to the call of Plumeria in enjoying the " _bounties of the forest_ ", and Light Spinner simply refuses to get intoxicated by inhaling a bunch of foul-smelling plant smoke. Mature, upstanding adults know that the most refined way to get intoxicated is by drinking too much.

But, by the end of the first few days, she's just apathetic. People ask her questions, and she answers, and after hours filled with boring labor, food that she doesn't particularly enjoy and multiple refused invites to participate in whatever nonsense the people of Bright Moon partake in to avoid thinking about the evil army only one magical forest away from them, Light Spinner rolls around in a way-too-comfortable bed and takes way too long to finally sleep.

Apathetic, by a very slim margin, is a little better than angry.  
  
  
  
  
  
Light Spinner finds herself having a lot of free time, in the end. More than she'd like to have - with no students to teach, no classes to prepare and away from pretty much all of the books she'd like to study, there isn't much here for her after the daily share of work is done. It makes her feel more than a little... lonely. More than usual. As much as the thought tries to slither itself away from her, she'd like some specific company.

The gardens of the citadel are the only real company she gets, though, and they become the only company she even cares about. They sprawl out all around the citadel, occupying entire layers of the enormous castle. 

Her favorite one is one of the least cared for, in the outskirts, by the base of the castle. From her estimative, the flowerbeds and the grass here have had work last done maybe two months ago, and whoever worked here didn't try to leave it too neat either. The grass is a little too tall, the dandelions pop up everywhere, accompanied by foxgloves and zinnias. The trees - pear trees, judging from the flowers - have a couple of dying branches, and, much like the bushes, aren't being pruned diligently.

Half-wild, beautiful and secluded, it's the best garden in Bright Moon, showing her very clearly how not everything here sucks. Not all the time.

Light Spinner still kind of wishes, in the end, that this garden didn't exist.

She thinks about her own flowers, left behind, as the clear skies slowly lets dense clouds roll over the sun.

Nobody will water them while she's gone. The Guild, if it even knows which greenhouse is hers, certainly isn't going to bother. The other gardeners are busy with their own work, and the list of people who are even going to notice her absence is noticeably small, if not almost unexistant.

Her work is cut out for, at the very least, another week and a half. When she comes back from this half-prison, then the resentment will come. In every dead leaf, in every starved root, and every sprout robbed of the chance to grow.

Light Spinner holds one of the delicate petals of a daisy between her fingers, distant. It falls off under very little strength, and after rubbing it softly under her thumb, the air takes it from her.

The wind rustles between the trees, carrying her deep sighs away into the paths of the Whispering Woods, along with the dying white petal.

Thunder rumbles, far away. For a moment, she considers whether it wasn't an explosion, or war drums - the Horde can't be that far away from her right now.

Another rumble confirms it as being just thunder, forecasting a strong summer rain.

Light Spinner, absorbed in her thoughts, directs her gaze skywards. Somewhere between the clouds, Mystacor rests. And she does mean "somewhere", because it's almost certain she's not looking in the right direction. 

It doesn't matter. Mystacor isn't at her front or at her back, it isn't to the northwest or eastward.Mystacor, like the clouds turning the shining sun into a dim, curtailed light and turning her sun hat into a useless acessory, is everywhere. Hanging over her head, present even when it's not wanted. Ruining the way she so strongly tries to care for it. 

Maybe it's time to go back inside. 

Light Spinner, silent and taciturn, leaves the wildflower gardens behind, hoping they'll get what they need from the oncoming rain.  
  
  
  
  
  
She's barely back inside when it starts pouring, and it really does pour. The silly architecture of this silly castle insists on silly curves and arches that turning what could be easily-manageable rivulets of water into a veritable cascade near the walls and entrances. Light Spinner, seeing real rain from the first time in a long while - Mystacor, hanging well over the clouds as it is, barely gets a couple of drizzles -, stands around by a pillar in the entrance hall, surprised by the sheer amount of water. 

Also, it gives her the one bit of slightly mean fun she gets in the whole past week, as she watches people run inside, positively soaked. The citadel residents and workers, failing to hide themselves under their coats and umbrellas, caught off-guard by the strength of the rain and the wind. Some try to laugh it off, but most are very visibly annoyed, shouting profanities and trying to wring themselves out a bit before going further inside. 

Enjoying the secrecy behind her veil and a little off to the side of the hall, hidden behind a pillar, Light Spinner smiles, basking on the glory of being perfectly dry in the face of all the soggy, damp people dragging water inside.

Her outfit for today wasn't exactly the best, or at least the climate wanted her to think so for the entire day. Under a thin wine-red long-sleeve shirt, a black midi skirt and a dark floppy hat, Light Spinner kept feeling herself constantly get a little too hot under the sun - but now, she basks in the enjoyment of being one of the few people completely dry in the room, and the breeze carried with the rain congratulates her with the perfect cool temperature.

The best part is how it's probably going to end soon, since sudden summer rains hilariously tends to last only a couple of minutes. For a while, she busies herself stifling laughter as to not attract attention, and when she's done poking fun at people's disheveled haircuts and the sorry state of their clothes, Light Spinner decides to leave for her bedroom, still chuckling to herself.

When she starts to move out of her spot behind a pillar, someone running inside almost bashes right into her. 

— Ah! Shit! 

By luck of the draw and some reflexive weaving out of the way, Light Spinner manages to stay intact, as the wet mess of a person stops right beside her. Even while she's trying to talk to whoever just barreled in, hiding under a soggy coat, she finds herself still half-laughing, not managing to sound particularly mad at them.

— Hey! Watch out. You could hit someone running like that.

— Sorry! Sorry. I wasn't expecting this much rain, for fucks sake…

Light Spinner's smile freezes under her veil, caught off-guard by a very... familiar voice.

— It's fine, I…

The person under the coat straightens up, removing the coat from over their head to reveal a mop of desperately wet, straightened black hair.

Castaspella turns around to look at her, and it's very obvious that she's just as shocked as Light Spinner. Not just from their expressions, but also because they spend more than a few seconds just staring at each other without saying anything.

— ... Castaspella?

— ... Uh. Hey, S-spinner, Light. Light Spinner.

— What are you... doing here?

— ... It's... Rain, I... rain from the ran. Wet.

The gears in Light Spinner's head keep jamming together.

The first thought that comes into mind is a simple, poignant "what?" placed at the forefront of her brain. A general, all-encompassing feeling of "what". 

The second is that Castaspella looks ridiculous.

Light Spinner feels the urge to laugh coming back, and it doesn't feel like a particularly rational, non-hysterical urge this time. The chuckles start to break up her words.

— I'm sorry, you... what? 

The laughter starts coming up, slowly at first, when she processes the barely coherent phrase she just said. Castaspella seems to also realize how she's suddenly lost the ability to speak like a regular person, and clamps up her mouth. Even under the strands of hair slicked against her cheeks, it's very easy to see her growing flustered and blushed.

It's even funnier, and now Light Spinner is full-on laughing.

— S-stop laughing at me! I'm... I got caught by the rain!

— Yes, very clearly!

— Shut up!! I'm SO fucking wet, can you help me or not?

Light Spinner, by this point, has tears in her eyes from laughing so hard.  
  
  
  
Castaspella just feels embarassed by being laughed at, at first.

But it's... well, she probably does look kinda ridiculous, even when she tries to correct her posture and tidy her unbelieavably wet hair away from her face. The undershirt she was wearing under the coat is, like her tight uniform pants, extremely slick against her body, and trying to stand in any sort of huffy, serious pose must only make her look dumber. Like an officer who forgot to take their clothes off before jumping into a bathtub.

After a while, the laughter, following suit of her own fluster, slowly dies down. Light Spinner keeps chuckling a bit, looking at her up and down, really soaking it in.

It's annoying, but Casta's... kind of endeared by it. A little.

— So? Can you get me a towel or something? I don't think I've ever felt this wet in my entire life. If I catch something, it's on you.

The way Light Spinner looks, all... casual and summer-y is more than a little surprising for her too, even if she doesn't mention it right now.

Castaspella was hoping to look and feel a little more dashing with her lieutenant uniform, paraded around only on these rare "diplomatic" occasions, but it definitely doesn't translate well under this volume of water between the fibers. 

— Sure, Castaspella... sure. 

— Good to see you, by the way.

Light Spinner, recomposing her posture and clearly still smiling, betrayed by the lines around her eyes, starts to lead Castaspella inside, navigating between the corridors back to her bedroom.

— It's good to see you too.  
  
  
  
  
  
— What are you even doing here, though?

Light Spinner breaks the silence while Castaspella is busy trying to towel her hair off a bit in the bathroom. She waits for her sitting by the bed, after leaving her hat over the pillows and letting her hair down.

Casta, looking at herself in the mirror and feeling a teensy bit more presentable - not by much, whatever little of her hair is drying up is now getting all frazzled -, sighs deeply, thinking of the answer.

There is a decent answer, but she's spent the entire past week at this point mulling over whether to lead with the excuse or with the reason, and the whole surprise-shower thing didn't really do any wonders for her train of thought. 

— The Guild sent me here for a special assignment.

— Really? Which is?

Light Spinner, staring at the floor between her feet, raises an eyebrow.

— Military training! I've been sent to instruct some soldiers in how to properly wield magically-infused weapons.

While that does explain the unexpected uniform, it brings like, a dozen other questions into Light Spinner's head. Military training? Did this little piece of paradise finally notice they've been embroiled in a war for quite a while now?

Also, what the fuck does Castaspella have to do with military training?

— ... Castaspella, I mean no offense, but what exactly do you have to do with military training?

Casta finally comes out of the bathroom, and her state is... a little bit better.

A lot better.

  
  
  
  


Both the coat, which she hasn't even seen Casta properly wear yet, and the undershirt are gone, so she's down to a slightly less wet tank top, slicked to her torso. That's an article of clothing she wears now, apparently, and her arms, consistently hidden away under her robes, have a decent tone to them, and Light Spinner isn't sure she's processing any of these new bits of information correctly.

Castaspella's still pretty damp, and all of her clothes are definitely going to be useless for a while. Light Spinner would offer something else for her to wear, but that idea right now seems a positively mind-boggling number of steps ahead from the escalation between "Castaspella, who until less than ten minutes ago I thought was still in Mystacor, is in my bedroom right now" and "has the curve of her waist always looked like _that_?". 

Giving a cocky smile, Castaspella clicks the heels of her boots together while standing with her hands on her hips, and Light Spinner can't help but notice that they don't look like combat-ready boots at all. In fact, even through the level of sogginess and the state of partial undress, her clothes seem a little too dress-y and tailored for anything resembling Light Spinner's idea of a military. 

— You're looking at Mystacor's first and foremost lieutenant.

Her playful pose breaks away quickly, and she busies herself with reaching down and pulling her boots and socks from her feet, tired of feeling like she's walking through a personal swamp. Castaspella sighs, a dismissive gesture of the hand serving to confirm it as a façade.

— Honorary, and also only lieutenant, I guess. It's not like we have an army other than the city guard, but since we do have some combat training under our belt in the Guild, the Alliance gave me a title and I made-- I, uh, and, and they also gave me an uniform.

The stumble in her words is noteworthy, and Light Spinner, now less distracted by some of Castaspella's specific lines, and curves, and angles, and volumes, and... Light Spinner raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms to try and keep herself focused.

— ... You made yourself an uniform?

Castaspella almost trips while removing her other sock and throwing it along everything else back inside the bathroom. She straightens herself up, her mouth contorting into a bunch of different shapes before she responds, after a short sigh.

— Are you going to laugh at me again if I say I did? 

Light Spinner snorts. Politely.

— No.

— Fuck off. 

— I apologize, but it is kind of funny.

— I will throw my wet socks in your face if you keep laughing, and if you tell anyone I will also make you eat them. 

Light Spinner tries to keep her laughter to herself, but catching Castaspella offguard like this is... something. For a second, she just feels like this is all a bit silly. Here they are, nearing their thirties, (debatably) respected professors, one temporarily exiled and the other playing dress-up.

She could overthink it, perhaps. She could take it as a show of how Mystacor, at its core, hasn't taken the threat of the Horde seriously for a very long time. She could also take this supposed assignment as a gesture that they're finally starting to care.

All in all, she just takes the whole situation as a light moment. Castaspella's half-pouty expression makes her look, in spirit, like a teenager sticking their tongue out. Light Spinner holds her hands up, defensively, to assuage Castaspella's fears.

— Alright. I won't tell. I'm just a little surprised.

Castaspella rolls her eyes, going back to toweling herself off a bit, even if she's not going to manage a whole extra lot of progress.

— I get it, I guess. 

— I mean... less the lieutenant part, more that they sent you here too. Not as an insult to your abilities, but what the Guild sent me here to do is pretty similar already. They could have just... added it to my list of obligations, I suppose.

— Oh, yeah, the... Guild didn't want to... overburden you. I was also meaning to visit Bright Moon for a while now, anyway. 

— What for?

— I have family here, actually! My brother Micah. We grew up here with our foster mother, but he's going to Mystacor next year as an apprentice. 

— ... Really, now?

Light Spinner turns away while talking, now looking at the carpeted floor. 

She feels like Castaspella's showing her a whole new side of herself. Having a brother is something so... plain, so _basic_ , and yet Light Spinner had no idea. She's a lieutenant, even if only in title, and she grew up in Bright Moon, and she has more than just one style of clothing, and she is a very proficient tailor, and... 

Light Spinner just... never asked her about any of it. More than that, until a month ago she didn't even have the idea of asking Castaspella _anything_. 

— He's also magically gifted, apparently. I'm not personally sure how good he is yet, but in his letters, he seemed really excited to go to the Guild!

— I see. It's always good to have new apprentices.

Light Spinner, tired of watching Castaspella from below, stands up from the bed, lost in the conversation. She reminds herself to go leave her sun hat on the rack by the door. They have a moment of silence while Casta watches her, given the benefit of an angle where Light Spinner isn't looking at her directly to actually take in what she's wearing.

— Strange to see you wearing that too, if we're talking about clothes.

— Huh?

Light Spinner turns around, looking down at her own clothes, almost like she forgot she was even wearing them.

— Oh. This. I... thought I'd wear something different.

Code for "I'm definitely not wearing my robes under the horrible daily heat here". 

— I get not wearing our robes here. Bright Moon is a little too hot for me this time of the year, too.

The idea of Castaspella saying something pretty close to what she was already thinking is still a little strange. But it's... becoming somewhat familiar.

— ... Yes, that too.

Not to mention how she still hasn't figured out to have just one outfit for the entire day, nor does she want to lug a coat around during the day, and it's always too windy everywhere for a shawl or a cape--

— And it's always hard to dress properly for both day and night, because the day is too hot and the night is too cold, and the entire castle seems to always have a little bit of a draft. And, like, are you supposed to keep dragging a coat around for when it gets cold? What about your _outfit_ , you know?

Light Spinner chuckles, her mind correctly read once again.

— You know this place better than me, I suppose. 

Castaspella smiles back, chuckling alongside, before scratching the tip of her nose.

— It, uh... fits you well. The clothes. They look good on you.

— ... Thank you.

Light Spinner's heart is suddenly very unsure of the last time someone took the time to compliment her like this. 

The moment brings her back to the date in Castaspella's office. She kind of hates having categorized it as a date already, but also kind of doesn't hate it at all.

But memories are tricky, fickle things, and right after the split second of feeling her past hands touch Castaspella's over the bottle of wine, the aforementioned draft brings a chill to the entire room, dissipating most of the fragments of her daydreams.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Castaspella, way chillier than Light Spinner and knowing that she's at the point where she's not going to get any drier without a wardrobe change, throws the towel back into the rack inside the bathroom, standing under the doorway and turning around to look at Light Spinner.

— Well, anyway, I... guess I should find out which room they set aside for me this time. I need to... get out of these clothes and... have an actual shower.

Light Spinner's eyes drift along Casta's hands, tidying up a hair lock behind her ear, and her thoughts start drifting elsewhere as well, still imprinted by the ghost of the wine bottle. 

At this point, Light Spinner just outright admits it to herself. Silently.

Castaspella looks good. Really good. 

She has always looked good in general, enough to catch Light Spinner's eye when passing by in a hallway, during meetings, during day-to-day life being coworkers, and today... 

Today she looks like someone Light Spinner would consider spending another couple of moments with. Maybe it's the clothes, the image of her in uniform, even an almost-fake uniform, or maybe it's the lack of clothes, the way there's so little hiding her arms, her hands, her neck, the top of her chest, the very lines of her body...

It's been more than a while since she had... _company_ , and the feeling knows very well how long it has been. The strength comes back proportional to the time in wait.

Her memory goes back fully to the day in Casta's office.

The smell of tea on her tongue, almost close enough to taste.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Parts of her mind wonder what other smells befit Castaspella. Even rainwater doesn't look so bad on her, so is it too far to imagine Casta surrounded by the smell of morning dew? 

Or roses and perfume around her neck? 

Or wine between her lips?

Or even sweat over her skin?

The invite is almost at the tip of her tongue, and Castaspella keeps looking at her. Light Spinner feels her black stare behind her own eyes, like Casta's coaxing the words out, one heartbeat at a time. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


" _You can shower here_." 

" _I'll borrow you something to wear_." 

" _Please, do get out of those clothes_."

Every phrase allures her down a different path, and Light Spinner's heart beats harder. The beds in Bright Moon are a little too comfortable for sleeping, and one can't help but wonder if their qualities can't be serviced for the sake of something else.

  
  
  
  
  
  


"You should stay a little longer."

"Yeah, I agree."

The shock of imagining Castaspella's answer is enough to stun Light Spinner's head into submission, and instead of actually saying anything, she just stands there, silent, feeling like her brain is about to leak from her ears.

— So, I uh... guess I'll see you around! We'll be... seeing each other the next few days, probably.

Light Spinner blinks, suddenly back inside her temporary bedroom, still somewhere a little offset from her own body, her mind a couple of meters away from her actual head.

— ... Yes, yes, we'll... we'll... see each other. 

Castaspella's chills are over her bones, while Light Spinner's are over her soul.

  
  
  
  
  
  


She doesn't want to let Castaspella go away right now, but... but telling her to stay is... complex, and it... _means things_ , and... she might be just reading things wrong, and Castaspella is really just being nice, and the awkwardness isn't coming from any _good_ tension, and instead it's because Light Spinner is just... an awkward person to be alone in a room with.

But Castaspella is also just standing there, unmoving, as if she's expecting something to happen. She hasn't bothered to go back into the bathroom to pick up her soaked belongings, and her expression looks halfway frozen. Castaspella's hands, after scratching the tip of her nose again, clasp together, her fingers slowly rubbing over the bump of the opposite thumb. 

Light Spinner is still standing near the main door, between Casta and the exit, and she also doesn't know what to do. Her mind feels like it's holding the reins of her body, and if she gives way to the slightest movement, her legs will take her somewhere she wasn't planning to go.

Fear is a strong emotion.

  
  
  
  
  
  


And, yet, there are stronger emotions.

— Actually, Castaspella--

— ...Hm?

— Do you maybe want to...

Her legs start moving towards her, and the distance between them, millions of miles wide, starts to become smaller. Light Spinner's steps span entire light-years, so soft and yet so decided - way more decided than her own thoughts.

— Yeah...?

Castaspella's hands move away from each other, now held softly close to her waist, almost limp, uncertain of where they're going to be needed in a few moments. Her body moves towards Light Spinner's, just a little, just enough to help close the distance.

— It's... not good to wander around with your clothes soaked, it's getting cold…

Suddenly, they're standing right in front of each other her, and Castaspella's hand moves of it's own accord. The tips of her fingers, well away from the judgement of her eyes, hover near the hem of Light Spinner's skirt.

— Uh-huh…

Light Spinner, about to burst into flames, feels the veins around her heart burn incandescent when Castaspella rests her other hand on the middle of her chest. 

The invite is barely spoken. Light Spinner doesn't know which words to use. Thankfully, she doesn't need them.

The way her beautiful green eyes don't stray away from Castaspella's for one second is enough. And Castaspella, moving closer, being answered by Light Spinner's hand sneaking around to the small of her back, fully accepts the invitation.

As the space becomes so dense, the time between them dilates, until every heartbeat in Casta's chest feels like a lifetime. Her lips, parted and willing, wait to be drawn in, inevitably, held back by the thin veneer of Light Spinner's veil.

When Castaspella raises her hand to Light Spinner's neck, they both close their eyes a little bit more. When Casta slides the tips of her fingers to Light Spinner's ear, touching the gently hidden tip of her veil's hook, Light Spinner grabs her hand.

Her touch is firm, but not forceful. Strong, and yet gentle.

Light Spinner takes a deep breath, closing her eyes fully, before letting go of Casta's fingers, rubbing her palm against the back of her hand. 

Castaspella almost takes it the wrong way, just for a second. She almost draws her hand back, thinking that the veil means more than she ever asked.

She's seen behind it, for just a split second. Enough for it to be burned into her memory, and to drive the need to see it again. But she also understands that it's not just for show - there's a meaning behind it, a meaning she's still unaware of, and it might be too much to ask for the secrets that Light Spinner hides behind the thin slice of fabric. 

Castaspella, though she never quite left the memory, returns to their meeting in her office, unsure of whether or not they're going to repeat their parting.  
  
  
  
But Light Spinner lets her in, this time.

She guides Casta's fingers to draw the hook away from her ear, while Light Spinner's other hand frees the other side, letting the veil slip away and fall to the floor between their feet.

Castaspella's hand brushes over the soft skin of Light Spinner's cheek, marking the angle of the jawline under her palm.

Light Spinner's hand slips behind Castaspella's nape, intertwining with the messy curves of her wet hair.

Hoping the moment of coming truly face to face with Light Spinner will last forever in her memories, Castaspella lets their lips, parallel for an eternity, conjoin into a single point in space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MUST BE THE SEASON OF THE WIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITCH ♫ 
> 
> next chapter is yalls gift for dealing with my slow-ass bullshit (there Mayor Maynot be an extra lil castaweaver thing on the works too)
> 
> happy october everybody


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